Disclaimer: Everything in the Harry Potter Universe belongs to JK Rowling. I don't own any of the characters and I'm not earning any money with this. I'm just playing around.

Author's Note: To be honest, I didn't really look out for this story to fit into Canon. Meaning: I haven't got a clue what age difference Katie and Adrian have; Fred is still alive (even after HP 7); Katie is in her fifth year but already 16; Oliver is still at Hogwarts; same holds true for Angelina, Alicia, Fred and George. I know I'm mixing up the different time forms in this story and I do hope it's not too confusing because I actually wanted to write it that way.

Besides and important to know: English still isn't my mothertongue. Unfortunately enough, this hasn't changed during the passed months. (I wish it had, though! It would probably make life a lot easier while learning for my linguistics exam ... ) I deeply apologize for all the mistakes in the following story. Please do tell me if there are any severe and really horrible mistakes in the text; I can always edit the story and correct them.

Have fun reading!

Living in the subjunctive

You tell yourself that they would understand. They're your friends, they would understand and they would support you. Of course, they would be shocked initially and they would be astonished and they would make up lots of absurd conspiracy theories, beginning with screwed up potion mixtures and moving on to Imperius spells, and you would be standing next to them, shaking your head.

They would be angry at you for a few days, probably. Offended and hurt. Furious and disappointed. Because there's something in your life about which you kept quiet, something in which they couldn't have a part although it's so incredibly important to you.

At first, it will be very difficult. They will keep your (dirty) littlesecret and they will shoot each other unsecure glances as they would love to talk about it but they don't know when and where so that no one else who shouldn't know could hear them. Although it doesn't matter to you anymore. You will just be happy that you finally told your friends.

They will ask you and cross-examine you -

(What did he do with you?

You never used to act like this!

Are you crazy? Are you completely nuts?

He's just taking advantage of you, don't you notice that?

When he starts talking to you about Quidditch, then - )

- and for the last comment, you will slap Oliver in the face because your love life and Quidditch have nothing to do with each other.

You will smile and remain silent and you will shrug your shoulders and tell them that it's your decision whether you engage in it or not, and it's actually too late anyway because you've decided a long time ago that you would try. Yes, maybe he's going to disappoint you, maybe really disappoint you, but your heart's beating faster when you're with him and you're feeling alive and you would like to keep that feeling.

(Do you reckon we just think that this, between us, is so great because it's so dangerous? Because it's forbidden? Because it's not in the least like what is expected from us? -

You really worry too much. -

And you worry too little. -

If that troubles you, you can always leave. -

Madcap. -

Gryffindor. -

Oi, what an insult, coming out of your lovely mouth. -

Weirdo. -

Shut up and kiss me, okay? Cheers.)

It'll be the same as before.

During nighttime, you will creep out of your bed and your dormitory, you will slip into a warm bathrobe and with bare feet, you will scurry through the floors, always beady-eyed, always with your wand in your hand, always alert to Snape and Filch and Mrs Norris.

He will be waiting for you in front of the stone wall, he will be walking around nervously and then his face will lighten up when he sees you and you will look at him and you will be thinking that you're happy, in spite of everything.

Both of you will be happy that you made it once again without being caught by someone. You will walk into the Common Room and then into his dormitory where the green velvet curtains will greet you warmly and as soon as you're lying underneath the blankets, they will protect you, just as hands do.

His hands will barely touch you, they will glide under your nightgown, over your naked skin and you will be giggling because it's tickling you and he will be grumbling and telling you that you manage to destroy every kind of erotic ambience that he's trying to create.

You will snuggle up with him and you will be talking, about everything, just not about the problems which come cost-free when a Slytherin and a Gryffindor ... You won't be talking about war, about politics, purebloods or Quidditch.

You will be lying in bed, close to each other, your arms around his body, his arms around your body, you will be smiling against the naked, warm skin of his chest and together you will listen to the snorring of his class mates. It will be easy, effortless, facile. No worries, no fears. Just being young and happy.

When Angelina asks you, this one question you're afraid to hear -

(Are you in love with him?)

- you're not sure what to answer because you avoided thinking about it and because he never asks you -

(I don't know. I suppose I'm in love with the life I could have if I stay with him. It's exciting and fast and then again it's slow and gentle and like something I've never had before.)

- but you're telling her the truth because you're always telling Angelina the truth.

The years will pass, will flash by, the war will come and will be won and you will be thinking that you've never been so happy in your whole life like you are in this moment when he appears at your side, right in the middle of the fight, when he holds your hand and tells you that you can manage that, everything, together.

With peacetime, all your problems will start anew. He will have to defend himself at court because he's a Slytherin after all, though no Deatheater, don't they understand that? He doesn't have the Dark Mark and you never feel too good for testifying again and again, just to help him, because you don't have any doubts anymore and you're sure that you love him.

Nevertheless, your friends will eye him sceptically as he somehow still belongs to the enemy, in their opinion, but you will yell at them, after a more than disastrous tea -

(Oops, Fred says with innocent air and George adds, We didn't want that, Katie, honestly! And you're standing in front of them and you're thinking that your head is going to explode in near future because you just can't get it that your allegedly grown up friends really managed to mix some of their goddamn, dangerous pastilles into the food of your boyfriend, your long-time boyfriend.

He ran into the bathroom, locked the door and claims that everything is alright, but you won't be taken for a fool and yes, you're boiling with rage and your voice sounds shrill and cracking, even for your own ears.)

- you will scream and shout and you will ask them what kind of friends they are if they don't grudge you your happiness and they will remain silent until Alicia promises that they will pull themselves together, for your sake.

Two years later, you will be marrying. You will be absolutely beautiful and absolutely happy and, Merlin, he's the best husband you could possibly imagine to have. He's different and unpredictable and you love him for that. When you're lying in bed in the evening, finally freed of your warm, heavy wedding gowns, you will bend down to him and kiss him into the corner of his mouth, between his narrow lips, and you will tell him that you love him and that he makes you happy and that you feel like someone in one of these really sappy romantic movies.

Five years later, Alinor will be born and this small, living bunch will grow and you two will be so incredibly proud of her.

(I can't do that, he tells you and sends you a helpless look, Can't you please help me? Please?

No, you're laughing, amused, making yourself comfortable on the couch and beaming at him, You can do that on your own. Honestly. I believe in you.

You wish you had some popcorn because it's just brilliant to watch how your husband, your smart, studied husband, tries to change your daughter's nappies.)

You will argue and fight and you will make up again until you think that life can't get any better. Your friends will be nicer to him, just a bit, but they won't let him forget that he isn't one of them, that he isn't one of you.

Later on, you will catch him in your bed, with another woman -

(You called it a day at work, a little earlier than usual, and you picked up Alinor from school and brought her to your parents since you finally wanted to spend a romantic evening with your husband again, the first one in weeks.

Instead, you come home and think that he isn't there yet, you climb up the stairs, want to go into your bedroom to get changed and you find yourself confronted with your very own nightmare.

You don't know the woman who's lying in your bed, but her eyes have an arrogant sparkle, her lips are painted red like fire and on the floor, there's expensive lingerie, made of silk, and she's exactly like you always wanted to be while he promised you that you're perfect just the way you are.)

- in this bed that was holy, in which you slept with each other and next to each other. He will desecrate it and he will look at you, horrified, when you're suddenly appearing in the door frame and you will be thinking, Hello cliché, before you turn around, hurry towards the fireplace and floo away.

Your friends will look at you with these looks of sympathy and badly hidden We told you right at the beginning! without actually speaking the words, and you will be close to getting crazy because – damn it – he broke your heart.

You believed in it, believed in fairy tales and in And they lived happily ever after and he destroyed all that and he destroyed you, too.

He broke your heart.

No, he will break your heart, he is going to break your heart.

Sooner or later he will, you're certain of that. So why should you get into it? Why should you let him hurt you when you can prevent it from happening?

(Katie? Are you dreaming again?)

Without any effort, you can imagine your whole life, a whole life spent with Adrian Pucey, but you know how it is going to end because he's a Slytherin and he will always remain a Slytherin and you will be the girl whose head he turned and whose heart he broke and you really don't want to be that girl.

Yes, maybe you're sometimes dreaming of him at night, dreaming of dark hair and of eyes blue like the sea and of thin lips that taste like bittersweet chocolate (at least in your imagination) but dreaming is all you allow yourself.

Maybe you'll awake one day, next to a man who doesn't mean anything to you anymore, and you'll ask yourself why you weren't brave enough back then to try it out, to engage in an adventure, to simply wait and see what would happen if ... But it will be too late and you will give your best not to regret.

Won't you?

You're sixteen and secretly in love and you don't know what to do with this awful lot of life that is lying in front of you. You don't know how to fill the years; it frightens you and therefore, you close your eyes and keep on dreaming, of dark chocolate and sharp remarks and of futures that aren't real.

Fin